by G Lawrence
De Quadra protested at this rude handling. Saying his diplomatic rights were being interfered with, he complained to my Council, who were entirely unmoved. We all knew what de Quadra was up to. He was encouraging dissent, inciting law breaking, and acting against me. And don’t believe for one moment that he was doing this for devotion to his faith. He wanted to cause trouble for me. That was his sole aim. But he was going to find it a great deal more difficult to act against me now that we had his household in a tight grip. When the time was right, or when I lost all patience, I would send him from England in disgrace.
As it transpired, I had no need to move on de Quadra. There was someone else with an eye on him.
Chapter Forty-Three
Greenwich Palace
Spring - Summer 1563
English forces had landed in France just after I recovered from smallpox, but it quickly became apparent this war was not going to go in our favour. In January, Huguenot forces had been defeated at Dreux and one of their leaders, Conde, was captured. Then in February the Duke of Guise had been shot by an assassin and died six days later. Some said he would have recovered from his wound, had his own doctors not bled him to death. The two sides made peace, and then, to my horror, they both turned on our English troops! I could understand the Catholic factions attacking us, but why our allies, the Huguenots, would choose to do so was a mystery. Cecil believed they must have come to an agreement in their peace talks. Since the Catholic side were still stronger, despite the loss of their leader the Duke, perhaps they had demanded the Huguenots expel their allies from the conflict.
Surrounded at La Havre, Ambrose Dudley had small choice but to secure the city and defend it. He tried inviting Huguenot leaders to talks, all of which were refused. As summer began, in the cramped, dirty conditions inside the city an epidemic of plague broke out. It tore through our English troops and decimated them. Ambrose was sure he could eventually come to an understanding and bargain for Calais, but as the months went on our intervention was becoming not only more costly, but increasingly pointless. I was stricken with remorse for getting England involved at all.
When I heard of the death of her uncle, I wrote Mary a letter of condolence. In truth, I did not sorrow for his death. The Duke of Guise had been a liability when he lived, both for France and for me, and was now, in death, being turned into a Catholic saint. A less likely saint I could hardly imagine… would one of his holy miracles be the slaughter of innocent people in a barn? But still, it was politic to write to my cousin and commiserate. The mention of Mary’s name in the plot of Edmund and Arthur Pole had made my Council suspicious of her, but I hoped she had been unaware of it, as was protested. Maitland was due to return to England soon and whilst I was happy to keep lines of communication and affection open with Mary, I did not relish another round of fencing with her ambassador over the succession.
“I am in such a labyrinth with the succession, Cecil,” I said to him one evening as we sat at my fire. “I believe my cousin Mary to be the best candidate, and yet I know many will never accept her. I cannot condone the elevation of the Greys, and never would I support a Lennox for the throne.”
My cousin of Lennox had been trying very hard that summer to wend her way back into my favour. Wanting to show her favour over Katherine Grey, I had agreed to write to Mary Stewart about Lennox reclaiming his Scottish titles. Lennox’s titles and blood were Scottish. He hailed from one of the greatest noble Scottish houses, and was descended from James II in the female line. Brought up in France, since Scotland was considered too dangerous after the assassination of his father by the Hamilton clan, Lennox had returned to Scotland as a young man, determined to be named Mary Stewart’s heir in defiance of the Regent, Arran, who was head of the clan who had murdered his father. Lennox claimed that James V, Mary’s father, had named him her heir, although others contested this. Whilst in Scotland Lennox had tried to woo Mary’s mother, Marie of Guise, in an attempt to make her his wife, but the canny Regent had played him, keeping him close and yet holding him away. Lennox had previously sworn fealty to the French King, François I, but upon realising he would get nowhere with Marie, he switched his allegiance to England, and to my father, which had made him no friends amongst the Scots or the French. Working on behalf of my father to marry Mary Stewart to my brother Edward, Lennox had effectively committed treason in Scotland. He had led my father’s troops during the Rough Wooing, as it had been called, where my father attempted to take Scotland by force and secure Mary of Scots for his son. When the Rough Wooing failed, Lennox had been attained for high treason by Marie of Guise, lost his estates to the Scot’s Crown, and had fled to England. An exile in England, Lennox had retained his titles, although they were not recognised in Scotland, and had remained in England ever since.
Lennox and his wife were keen to regain their lands and titles in Scotland, and in agreeing to this project I was demonstrating my favour for them over Katherine Grey as an heir. I had also hinted I might consider the match between Darnley and my cousin of Scots. Margaret had come to court, and I made sure I was seen often with her. Although I despised her company, my Lennox cousin was of use to me in rupturing support for Katherine Grey.
“To marry and bear a child of your own would solve all problems, Majesty,” Cecil reminded me; it was his constant refrain, his answer to all questions.
“You speak so because you have become a father again,” I noted. Cecil’s second wife, Mildred, had given birth that June to a son, named Robert in honour of my favourite.
“I admit that the birth of another son brings me much comfort, even if his health gives us cause for concern,” Cecil said. “And I wish, madam, that you could feel the same pleasing warmth that children may bring to the life of a parent.” Seeing my disgruntled face, my Secretary hurried on. “But I agree you cannot exclude the Queen of Scotland entirely, for to do such would only bring trouble, even war upon England, I believe.”
“If she pursues a match with Don Carlos, my people will certainly never accept her,” I said. “They have no wish to have Spain as a master over them again. If Mary marries into Spain, she will bring that threat to our shores. If only Mary could be prevailed upon to marry one we approved of, that would solve many problems.”
I did not say I was considering offering Robin to Mary, but it was in my thoughts, especially given his late involvement with my Parliament. I began to draft an agreement for Mary; if I was allowed to dictate whom she married, she would have her claim to the throne recognised. I did not show it yet to Cecil, for I knew he would protest. As for my plan to test my favourite… Robin was not, as yet, high enough in title or wealth to be an inviting prospect for my cousin, so I made moves to make him so. I would have to tread carefully, but I was determined not only to test Robin, but to have my revenge on him as well. Oh, I was a wicked woman then! And why should I not have been? Robin deserved a shock.
I gave Robin Kenilworth Castle in Warwickshire. It was a fine prize and Robin was pleased, but also clearly baffled. I had been cool with him of late… and now I granted him such a gift… What was going on? The flickering emotions of doubt and joy on his face were pleasing. He would understand… soon enough.
He was pleased to have the castle, despite his doubts about my motives. It stood but a few miles from his brother’s seat at Warwick, making them close neighbours. Ambrose was still in France, battling both the united French forces and plague, but in July I sent word that he was to surrender to the French and return home. It was obvious we were going to gain nothing by remaining in France. When Ambrose returned from this disastrous campaign, we found he had been injured. He walked with the use of a stick for the rest of his life. I did not blame Ambrose for the failure of the mission. He could hardly have foreseen our own allies would turn on us, but I was angered at our losses. All we had done was lost. Calais was not returned, our former allies had betrayed us, and we had lost men and money on the campaign. What I had said before was true; no good came of war.
&nbs
p; The return of the soldiers also unleashed a fresh outbreak of plague. We had just managed to get it under control in London when they came home. I believed God was sending England a message not to become involved in conflicts again. And what a message! Three thousand in London died each week, and as it started to spread to other areas of England, sanctions had to be firmly set in place again. I had to order Katherine Grey, Hertford and their sons moved from the Tower and placed under house arrest in the country, for it was too dangerous to leave them in London. I would not have anyone accuse me of bringing about her death through lack of care. Katherine was sent to her uncle, John Grey, along with her baby, and the elder son, Lord Beauchamp, was sent to his grandmother, the Duchess of Somerset, along with his father. I was not about to put Katherine and Hertford in the same house, but I thought it fair to share their children between them. Katherine was not given leave to write to Hertford, to anyone in his household, to her sister or anyone at court. I sent her with Thomas’s nurse, three ladies in waiting and two manservants. Katherine sent a letter to Cecil, thanking him for saving her family from the plague and asked him to seek forgiveness for her from me.
“I have shown her enough generosity already, Spirit,” I said. “She has proved she cannot be trusted, twice. And she should thank me, not you, for having her moved to safety. I could have refused, just as I could have taken her husband’s head, and hers, for their betrayal.”
Katherine’s chambers in the Tower, when inspected, horrified me. Her fine hangings and furniture had been all but destroyed by her dogs and her pet apes, and they stunk of shit and piss. Clearly the maids I had sent had failed in their duties, so perhaps it was just as well Katherine was now housed with family instead. But still, Katherine’s fate could have been much worse, had I made it so. Soon after her arrival at his house, John Grey wrote to Cecil, alarmed for his niece. He believed she was pining away for Katherine had stopped eating and said she would welcome death if not for her children and husband. She missed her eldest son horribly, and was especially depressed when she missed his second birthday.
“And would Hertford not be depressed in spirit to see neither of his children?” I asked Cecil. “Should I give both to Katherine, and leave the father never seeing either child until they were grown men?” I shook my head. “She had two years with the elder, and now Hertford will take his turn. I cannot put the two back together, but I will not ignore Hertford’s right to his children. Katherine has her babe. Let her concentrate on him.”
As the court removed to Windsor again, marriage talks reopened with the Hapsburgs. With de Quadra locked in his house in London, and muttering against Catholics growing in England, talks about a match between the Archduke Charles and me resumed at perhaps the worst time possible. It was only at Cecil’s urging I allowed it. Our intervention in France had not been appreciated by the ruling Valois and due to de Quadra’s meddling, relations between Spain and England were strained. Cecil wanted England to have at least one friend and so I grudgingly allowed him to open negotiations. As I considered the idea, I found I did not mind so much. Spain and the Hapsburgs were all vastly unpopular with my subjects. I could refuse the suit at any point, and say I did so for love of my people, which would be at least partly true. Randolph wrote from Scotland that Maitland had said “there are three factions in England; the Catholics, the Protestants, and Queen Elizabeth.” I found this highly amusing, but it was true enough. I had to keep a balance.
As part of these negotiations, Emperor Ferdinand wrote asking me to allow English Catholics to have the use of one chapel in each city where they might practise the old faith in peace and without hindrance. I found this rather hypocritical, seeing as Protestants were not given those rights in his country…
My religious settlement was generous, and I did not persecute Catholics, all I asked for was public obedience. If Catholics wished to be Catholics, they could remain so in their own hearts. But in my realm I would have order, and I would have unity.
“This request,” I wrote in response to the Emperor, “is of such a kind and beset with so many difficulties that we cannot allow it without hurt to our country and to our own honour… To found churches expressly for divine rites, besides being repugnant to the enactments of our Supreme Parliament, would be but to graft religion upon religion, to the distraction of good men’s minds, the fostering of zeal of the factious, the sorry blending of the functions of church and state, and the utter confounding of all things human and divine in this, our now peaceful state. This would be a thing evil in itself, and of the worst example pernicious to our people, and to those themselves, in whose interest it is craved, neither advantageous nor indeed without peril.”
Phillip of Spain was not keen on the idea either. He believed it would allow me to single out Catholics, and move against them. Why he believed me to be made of the same spirit as he, I know not, for in so many ways I had proven myself lenient and patient in terms of religion.
“He should look at the practices of his dead wife, my sister, or at his own horrific Inquisition, if he wants to see what persecuting people for their faith truly is!” I huffed to Kat as she undressed me.
“Indeed, Majesty,” Kat agreed. “Phillip is hardly innocent of acting against those of our faith.”
I was not the only one struggling with religion. Reports that Mary was considering a Catholic match had leaked out, and Knox was after my cousin. He preached against her proposed marriage to Don Carlos, and my cousin called him to her. Making it clear that she had endured a great deal of insult from him and yet still left him at liberty, Randolph reported that she became tearful. “I shall be revenged,” she said, her eyes swimming. “What have you to do with my marriage?”
“Your nobles are flatterers and neither God nor the Commonwealth are represented well at court,” Knox replied.
“What are you to do with this Commonwealth?” Mary demanded.
“I am a subject born within this realm, Majesty,” Knox stiffly replied. “And albeit I neither be earl, lord or baron, yet God has made me a profitable member of this kingdom. If you marry a Catholic, you betray Scotland and all the promises you made when first you came here. Marry a Catholic and you will end your days in anguish and sorrow.”
Knox was dallying with danger. He spoke to Mary as though she were his equal. Mary, unused to anyone daring to address her in such a way, burst into tears. If I were her, I would have screamed at him, even though I can’t deny his stance against a Catholic match was in England’s favour. Knox watched her cry. “I have never been moved by a woman’s weeping,” he said. “I can scarce abide the tears of my own sons when I beat them. I have spoken nothing other than the truth, Majesty, and you have no cause to be therefore offended. I will not betray my Commonwealth by remaining silent.”
Mary stood up and shouted he was to leave the chamber. Knox departed, but Mary knew she would face further battles. And in his mind, she could never win. Knox despised female rulers, believing they ruled from the heart, and possessed no reason. Knox also believed Catholics and Catholic women in particular, were savage with lust. Knox had recently written to Cecil, praising me over his Queen, for I was Protestant, and had therefore chosen reason over emotion, and was a queen “by the miraculous dispensation of God.” So he now approved of me, even though being a woman and in power I was apparently deviating from the natural order.
Despite my cousin’s habit of breaking into tears, were we so very different? Mary had shown she could rule wisely, justly and fairly in her realm. She had conquered rebellion and had not imposed her faith upon her people. If I did not burst into tears before my men, I often enough lost control of my temper. Knox ignored all slander which had been made against my name over the years, because it suited his theory to believe me rational and strong, and Mary irrational and weak. It was true my cousin could be naïve and impulsive, but she had not learnt her craft as long as I had, and it was not as though I was a creature without fault or flaw.
The only difference was ou
r faiths. Knox was willing to stuff Mary with every sin for her faith, and lay every virtue over my shoulders for mine.
Chapter Forty-Four
Windsor Castle and Oatlands Park
Summer 1563
In August, de Quadra died of the plague.
It was the only thing he ever did that pleased me.
I did not sorrow. I did not shed a tear. Had it not been a public insult to Spain, I would have ordered the court into a round of furious celebration upon the death of my enemy. For once, I thanked Death.
I am sure Phillip of Spain believed I had poisoned de Quadra, or had left him under house arrest in London hoping he would catch the plague; neither was true, although I will admit the ambassador was not one of my first concerns. Perhaps I was guilty of neglect, but I had no reason to sorrow that the grating, infuriating weasel was gone. I sent word of our sorrow for the loss of the “good ambassador de Quadra” to Phillip, and asked for a replacement.
Phillip was cool towards England after de Quadra’s death, and this carried the added benefit that he was not keen to pursue the match between me and his cousin. De Quadra, clearly, was of more use to me dead than alive. With Hapsburg negotiations frosty, and relations with France strained, I decided to work on Scotland. I formally asked my cousin to give me the authority to select her husband. If Mary would content me in this request, I wrote, I would proceed with her right to be named my heir. Cecil stepped in to amend my letter, saying that her right to the throne would be investigated, rather than immediately approved, which I allowed. I asked Mary to marry an English nobleman; one who was committed to friendship between our countries. I said that she might marry a foreigner, but only if he was committed to peace, and asked her not to marry with France, Spain or Austria. Cecil wanted Mary to submit evidence for her claim and if it was upheld by Parliament, I would accept Mary as my natural sister or daughter. I believed it was a generous offer, but my cousin thought otherwise. She could not understand why I would seek to barter, or why she should have to prove her claim.